


Lessons

by orphan_account



Series: Eremin Week [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bad Cooking, Fluff, Food, Humor, I get tired of tagging things like idk just read it or don't, M/M, eren and armin are not, i love you fair reader, sasha is so good at cooking, sorry - Freeform, that seemed mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things Eren and Armin can do: anything they put their minds to.<br/>Things Eren and Armin can't do: cook.</p><p>Day Five: Heroes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons

Cooking is one of those things. In theory, it’s totally doable. In practice, it’s a whole different story. I’ll admit, it, I was one of those kids who never bothered to really learn how to cook. I didn’t even really think about it. Mom or Mikasa just always did the cooking, and on the rare occasions that neither of them was around the microwave was. So, it wasn’t a problem.

The thing about moving out is that things that weren’t problems suddenly become problems. A lot of things that were just _there_ stop just magically showing up. You have to do your own laundry, pay for your own internet. You have to make your own damn food.

Now, I always kind of assumed that Armin was good at cooking. He was Armin, he was good at everything.

“That’s sweet, babe, but you’re wrong,” was what he had to say to me when I told him he was supposed to be good at everything.

So, given that information, it was probably stupid of me to think we should make spaghetti for our first supper in our new place. But, in my defense, spaghetti was supposed to be easy. Plus it involved throwing noodles at the wall, and I was definitely looking forward to throwing noodles at _my_ (rented) wall.

I wasn’t looking forward to burning myself with boiling water. Also, didn’t really want Armin to cut himself while he diced a tomato. Though, thankfully the tomato made it look a lot worse than it actually was, so we didn’t need to call an ambulance. Obviously my major concern was Armin’s safety, but at the same time I never would have heard the end of it if we’d ended up at the hospital.

And then, there was the fire. Just a small one. Armin got a small burn on his hand to match mine, but we did manage to put it out before anything too bad happened.

In the end, fires put out and burns polysporin-ed, we made our way down to the corner store and bought some crappy plastic wrapped subs. Not exactly a romantic dinner, but they didn’t catch on fire so I’d call it a success.

Maybe we should have given up. Maybe we should have just accepted our fate and lived on takeout. But we didn’t, and that meant that we spent a lot of time walking down to the corner store after our dinner plans once again failing.

It got so bad that the girl who regularly worked the night shift started saving us what she referred to as “the least disgusting of those poor excuses for food”. They didn’t actually taste any better, but the thought was nice. She even took to greeting us whenever we walked in the door regardless of if she was busy with another customer. When the bells on the door rang around seven at night, she looked up from whatever she was doing and waved at us. We’d wave back and then make our way over to the cooler where dinner was waiting for us.

* * *

 

She was nice, she really was; but nice or not, returning home from dinner with Mikasa to find her standing in our kitchen was, well, creepy.

“Sasha?” Armin managed to choke out. I couldn’t find a single thing to say. Corner store girl was just standing there with this huge smile on her face, and that was _not_ okay.

“Oh, hey guys,” she replied nonchalantly, as if breaking into our home was a totally normal thing to do.

“Umm, what are you doing in our kitchen?” Armin asked.

“Investigating,” she shrugged.

She was so casual about the whole thing, and it was really starting to piss me off.

“Okay corner store girl,” her smile disappeared the second I said that, “either you give us a good reason for your being here, or we call the police.”

She nodded slowly, “You can’t cook.”

“Of course we can’t,” I began, but there really was a more important point to be made, “You mean you broke into our place because you think we can’t cook?”

“Know you can’t cook,” she corrected.

I had never met someone who left me at a loss for words so often. I just stared at her, dumbstruck. Then Armin started talking and I seriously had to pinch myself because there was no way it was really happening.

“Can you cook?”

Definitely not at the top of my list of things to ask someone who’d just broken in. Armin, on the other hand, seemed to think it was a great question.

Corner store girl seemed offended, “Of _course_ I can cook!”

“Can you teach us how to cook?”

I really hoped that Armin never came face to face with a legitimate home intruder.

Sasha rolled her eyes and sighed, “Duh. That’s what I’m _here_ for. Though I am disappointed. I can’t believe you don’t have a food processor.”

“Why the hell would we have a food processor?” I cut in.

She shook her head sadly, like she couldn’t understand how some people thought they could get by without a food processor.

“I’ll be here tomorrow at noon. Please let me in, I don’t think it’ll be easy to carry the groceries in through the window.”

“You’re buying us groceries?” I demanded.

“Sort of.” She pulled a few crumpled bills from her pocket and flashed them at us. “I’ll give you back the change.”

Before I had a chance to get properly mad, Sasha was walking out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom. I followed after her but she was halfway out the window before I got to the door.

“See you tomorrow.”

Once she was gone I went to the window and made sure to lock it securely. I made a mental note to look into getting bars for it.

* * *

 

True to her word, Sasha arrived at noon with her arms loaded with grocery bags. I did let her in, though not because I wanted to. Because Armin wanted to.

I stood against the kitchen wall with my arms crossed as I watched her and Armin go through the bags. There was a lot of food and I hoped we had room for all of it. Our kitchen wasn’t exactly large, but somehow it did all fit.

Then, the real fun began. Sasha insisted that we start with something easy, but apparently to her easy meant soufflé. If I hadn’t been questioning her sanity before, I certainly was then. But somehow, it turned out okay. I think it was because Sasha was technically the one who made it and she was some kind of crazy soufflé expert. It tasted really good though, so I didn’t care who’d made it. All that mattered was that I got to eat it.

The next few weeks were like some kind of crazy cooking boot camp. Sasha came by once a week to help us out, but she left us with cooking assignments and the knowledge that she could get into our apartment anytime she wanted. It was oddly motivational.

* * *

 

About a month after Sasha first broke into our apartment, Armin and I decided to give spaghetti another try. This time there were no burns, cuts, or fires. We did get a little carried away throwing the noodles against the wall, but I reasoned that it was celebratory noodle chucking. But even once it was done there was still one thing that remained to be seen. Did it taste any good?

“You first,” I said as I pushed a fork full of spaghetti in Armin’s face.

It was then that I heard a knocking.

“I’ll try it!”

Who would it be but corner store girl, banging at the kitchen window?

“I’ll try it!” she yelled again.

I looked at Armin who nodded, so I reluctantly went to open the window. She climbed in with more grace than I’d expected before going right over to the table and snatching up the fork already twined with noodles.

She just stood there, looking thoughtful for a moment and I wondered if that meant it was bad or good.

“Not bad,” she said, so that’s apparently what long thoughtful silences meant.

She plunged the fork into the plate of noodles and tried some more.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

We’d done it. We’d made edible food. Armin looked just as pleased as I felt. As Sasha went in for another forkful, I pulled Armin into a celebratory kiss.

“We made food!” I laughed, “And it tastes like food!”

“You’re welcome,” Sasha mumbled between bites of food.

“Thanks Sasha,” Armin replied.

“Yeah, our hero,” I added.

Judging from the huge smile that spread across her face, I think Sasha missed the sarcasm.

“Now, can we have some of our spaghetti?” Armin asked.

Sasha didn’t reply; she just went in for what was probably her seventh forkful of _our_ food.

Yeah, she was our hero alright.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I call them subs, but some people call them heroes, so that was me trying to be clever (I can stop if you want).  
> Headcanon that Sasha is a fucking ninja okay, you can't convince me otherwise. I did realise that it was more SASHAAAA! than actual Eremin, but then they kissed so just pretend that it's okay. Please. Tomorrow will be Eremin-er.


End file.
